Not How I Wanted
by Lady Flames
Summary: They killed my parents. They killed my sister. And now I am their slave. But they will never break me. I have vowed revenge, and I never break a promise. R&R, please! A NEW CHAPTER UP!
1. Chapter 1

_An idea that just came to me as I was falling asleep. Enjoy! (and don't forget to tell me what you think - wink, hint, nudge)_

_Summery: They killed my parents. They killed my sister. And now I am their slave. But they will never break me. I have vowed revenge, and I **never **break a promise._

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! This should be self evident, since this _is_ a work of FAN fiction, but rules are rule.**

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_**Not How I Wanted**_

"Isis. Hear my plea…" The young girl bowed her head and a tear ran down her brown cheek, pausing at the tip of her chin before dropping into the harsh, cold earth.

The young boy beside her gritted his teeth, refusing to let himself cry. His hand toyed with the new blonde crew cut that he found himself wearing. His other hand brushed the dirty bandage on his wrist. _Isis. Ha! Isis didn't save my mother, my father, not even my sister – her own priestess. Isis isn't going to save me._

The girl finished her prayer and lifted her head, staring sightlessly at the rough stone wall of the prison she shared with all the new slaves.

"Akila, is that you?"

"Rehema?"

"Yes, it's me…"

"Oh, thank Isis!"

The boy tried to ignore the muffled sounds of reunion coming from the two girls, but they were like a knife, cutting and twisting into his stomach. He put his head on his knees. _Thanks, Isis_, he thought bitterly. _Thanks for nothing._

There was a loud clang, and then the door opened wide, flooding the dank room with bright sunlight.

"Go ahead – take your pick."

"Am I the first?"

"Of course!"

"Huh." A tall thin man with a black goatee entered, followed by a grossly fat man, who bulged out of the shabby white robe he wore.

"Go ahead," repeated the fat man, spreading his hands expansively.

The thin man sniffed in disgust and began to stalk down the rows of prisoners, looking carefully down his nose at every prisoner, studying them. The prisoners drew back when he approached, but he ignored them and kept prowling, right down the centre of the room.

"So?" The fat man waddled after him, signalling to the guards outside to stay put.

The thin man stopped and rolled his eyes. "If you would be so _very_ kind as to allow me a moment or two with these… _precious_… people, I would be able to tell you." He turned abruptly. "Or would you rather I left now?"

The fat man's head sagged, his neck getting swallowed by his shoulders, his piggy eyes darting to and fro. "No, no." He began to back away. "No, no, take as long as you wish, Lord Gahiji."

"I will." Lord Gahiji turned and continued his prowl. Suddenly, he darted to the left and dragged a woman into the light. The woman cowered before him, her long black hair falling over her face. With a casual flick of his wrist, he swept her hair aside and examined her face. He nodded, and let go of her wrist.

A man with a pointed nose and a notebook stepped out of the darkness and darted to where she sat, taking note of the number on the tag around her neck and disappearing again.

This happened again and again, and the list on the notebook grew longer and longer. Sometimes, Lord Gahiji would pull someone from the crowd and shake his head, and then the man with the notebook would stay locked in the shadows, and the person would scrambled thankfully back into his place.

"Look here, Mensah. A matched pair." Lord Gahiji laughed a short, sharp, barking laugh. "I would never have expected such quality in _your_ stock."

"Yes, my Lord." Mensah scowled at the thin man's back and absently scratched the side of his doughy face. He would be glad to get to the market, where buyers treated him with respect. Not like these noble types, who seemed to think that they were better than him. He'd just like to see them get their own slaves. Then we'd see who was better.

The nobleman was reaching out for the girls, who were trying to escape his grasp, pressing themselves right against the wall. His fingers gripped Akila's upper arm, and drew her out. "How many have I got, Akil?"

Akil emerged from the shadows, notebook in hand, and bowed perfunctorily. "One hundred and forty nine, my Lord."

"What a pity." Lord Gahiji shrugged. "Ah, well. I shall only take one, then. This one seems to be – "

"No!" Rehema's anguished cry echoed around the suddenly deathly quiet room.

"Excuse me?" Lord Gahiji raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't you hear her?" snapped the boy, looking up with angry eyes. He wasn't quite sure what had caused him to speak his thought, but he was past caring what happened to him. "She said '_no_'."

"Oh, really?" The noble seemed amused.

"Yes, really? There something wrong with your ears, mister?"

In one swift movement, Lord Gahiji let go of Akila and grabbed the boy, lifting him to eyelevel. "You," he said, quietly and deliberately. "May call me Lord Gahiji."

The boy squirmed, trying to free himself, and avoiding the nobleman's eyes.

"I like this one," said the nobleman, smiling and holding the boy at arm's length. "He has spirit."

"Yes, my Lord." Akil appeared at his side, apparently not needing to move through the space in between, and taking note of the number on the boy's tag.

"That will be all, Mensah."

"Come, let us settle the bill in a _civilized_ place," said Mensah, turning and waddling to the door.

As Akil exited after Lord Gahiji, regarding the slaves with jaded eyes that held only vague pity, the door swung shut. There was a clang as the bolt was shoved home, and the whole room relaxed in the forgiving darkness.

"Hey…"

The boy turned at the tap on his shoulder to see Rehema sitting behind him, a strange look on her face. "Yes?"

"You… you saved my sister. Thank you."

"It was nothing." The boy reached up and shoved his fingers through his short hair, embarrassed.

"I saw what happened earlier." Rehema looked at her feet. "You were very brave."

"Yes, well…"

"They had no right to cut it all off." Rehema fingered her own short black locks.

"Well, they did."

"Where are your family?"

"Dead." He didn't feel like going back to that memory, not now anyway.

Rehema gasped. "I'm so sorry!"

"I don't need your pity."

"Oh…" Rehema searched for something to say. "Uh… I'm Rehema. What's your name?"

"My name? Why?"

"I…" Rehema looked slightly embarrassed. "I want to pray for you."

"To?" he asked brusquely, looking away.

"Oh, I don't know… Isis, I suppose."

The boy laughed, a horrible, mirthless laugh.

"And to Khensu. He was our village's protector."

"And you _still_ worship him? After all that has happened?"

"Of course. He will protect us still. As long as the moon is in the sky."

"Very well…" The boy leaned against the wall, staring into the darkness with unseeing eyes. "My name is Marik."

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_There it is... the first chapter. What did you think?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Here it is... after a HUGELY long time, I have to confess. -hangs head- Just suffice to say I had a lot else on my mind._

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**Disclaimer: I do not own YGO.

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****_Not How I Wanted_**

**Chapter 2**

"Three."

"Six."

"Two."

The die rolled across the chipped wooden table, spinning for a second before thudding down. There was a whoop of one of the watchers, and groans from the other three.

"I win! Three! Ha, told you it was my lucky number!" The man held out his hand. "Go on, boys, pay up."

Grumbling, the others dug in pockets and drew out a few grimy coins, which they handed to the winner.

"Hey, you lot! Get dressed, you morons - his Lordship is back!" The young man who had burst into the room and spoken had thick brown hair that curled wildly, stopping severely at the nape of his neck. He grinned at the stunned expressions of the men in the room and swung himself out of the door.

"Back? Already?" The winner of the dice, a broad-shouldered man roughly in his thirties, judging from his weather-beaten face, shook his head and got to his feet. "Come on, you lot."

"We're coming, Tym, we're coming. Just getting over our loss, you know?"

Tym jingled the money he had won and laughed, "That's what you say every time, and yet you _still_ play dice with me."

"Every dog has his day – and some dogs have had more then their fair share by now." The tall, muscled blonde man looked pointedly at Tym, who laughed and began to shave, standing by the old, crack mirror in the corner.

"Well," sighed a sweet voice, "I suppose we'd better get ready, too." A young, freckled boy, barely out of his teens went to his bunk and picked up the jacket draped across it. The two who remained silent at the table watched him in silence as he dusted it off and put it on, standing just behind Tym and examining his reflection in the mirror.

One, a sinewy man with a scar running across his cheek and brown hair lightly streaked with grey, shook his head sadly before getting to his feet and saying gruffly, "Leave it alone, Jeff. It looks fine."

Jeff looked at the older man, startled, and then grinned self-consciously. "I suppose you're right," he conceded, stepping away from the mirror, his voice still perched on the fence between the sweet soprano of youth and a manly tenor. He nodded and then left, the eyes of the older man following him out.

Tym splashed water on his face and rubbed his now smooth chin appreciatively. "Come on, you lot – didn't you hear the man? His Lordship approaches."

"Yes, sir!" The blonde man stood to attention and saluted sharply, his broad grin marring the otherwise perfect movement. Tym returned the salute with a sloppy touch to the forehead and left, grinning.

He jogged along the long line of barracks, waving to people as he went, until he came to a wide, paved pathway. He stood and watched the men before him marching in perfect time, admiring the striking effect of their pale brown and gold uniforms against the background of a grove of trees. As they drew near he drew himself up and saluted to the man who lead them, who responded likewise. He waited until the troops had passed and then hurried down the path, absent-mindedly rubbing the four gold bars on his shoulder until they shone in the harsh sunlight.

"Sir!" A man jogged up, simply _reeking_ efficiency, and saluted.

"Yes, Corporal?" sighed Tym, slowing to a walk. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, sir, Captain Morris asked me to ask you to – "

Tym held up a hand, and the man subsided. "Tell Captain Morris," began Tym quietly. "That I will deal with him later. His Lordship is my first priority." He began to walk swiftly away, ignoring the corporal's look of apprehension.

He stopped at the gate to the mansion and carefully signed his name in the log on the table, nodding to the man behind the desk. Once basic pleasantries had been exchanged, Tym wiped his shoes on the mat and entered the beautiful estate. He picked a small red flower up off the floor and placed it in his buttonhole, smiling at the cheering effect such a small thing had on his uniform. An open carriage rolled up to him.

"Morning, Elsa," he said, climbing on.

"Morning Commander!" smiled the woman driving the carriage.

"Where's Gert today, hmm?"

"Gone and got himself sick, so I have to do the driving."

"Well, I'm all for an equal world…" Tym settled himself down with his back to Elsa and organised his thoughts while the horses trotted smartly down the pathways and to the front of the house.

A big grey carriage was just pulling up to the front of the house. Tym watched it with a look of intense dislike on his face. The carriage stopped to let Elsa past, and Tym tried to ignore the desire to look through the windows. He failed, as he did every time, and turned his head to see several faces pressed there. His heart ached, but he smiled at them. One girl, who may have been beautiful if she were clean, smiled back, and the warmth and hope in that smile just made his insides shrivel up. How he _hated_ the slave trade.

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Lord Gahiji surveyed his troops as they marched before him in gleaming rows. It _was_ an impressive sight. He smiled thinly when he saw the man leading them, resplendent on his pure white horse, turn and salute to his balcony.

He turned away from the view at his big bay window and stalked to his desk. As he lowered himself into his chair, something occurred to him, and he reached for a draw. One tug at the draw opened it to reveal a small dagger, sheathed. He drew the dagger out and unsheathed it, admiring the delicate flower etched in the side. His shook his head and sheathed it again, strapping it to his belt. Then he sank into his chair and stretched, using the movement to pick up a small bell. He rang it and a slim young man entered, holding a stack of books.

"Yes, my Lord?" asked the young man, placing the books carefully on the bookshelf by the doorway.

Lord Gahiji raised an eyebrow, but let it pass as the young man turned to face him. "Bring Akil here… tell him to pick which of the slaves he… _desires_…" He took malicious pleasure in seeing the uncomfortable look on the young man's face. "… for his reward, and take the rest to the kitchens, where they will be put to work."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Carry on."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I am not the owner of the YGO characters. But I do own this alternate universe and the plotline! )**

_**Not How I Wanted**_

"Move, slave!"

Marik glared wrathfully at the man, but obeyed. He swung his arms as he walked, knowing that only the free walked like that. _They can chain my body, but they can never chain my spirit. I **will** avenge my family!_

"Don't," warned the woman behind him, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "You will only anger them further."

"So what?" growled Marik under his breath. He shook off her touch and walked a little faster, swung his arms a little higher.

When the column finally stopped, he looked ahead. Two men walked along the line; a tall, broad-shouldered man, who walked with a distinct military precision that was almost a march, and another whom Marik recognised as Akil, Lord Gahiji's assistant.

The sharp-faced man seemed to be inspecting them, but every so often he would say something to the military type and another person would be dragged out of line to be further inspected. Most were shoved back into place, but a few joined Akil, walking just behind him in a nervous group.

They drew closer, and Marik straightened his back, trying deliberately to be noticed. If he were Akil's servant, he would be near to Lord Gahiji… and the rest would work itself out.

"What are you, crazy? Do you want to be picked?" asked the woman behind him, he voice shaking a little as she looked fearfully at Akil. "Who knows where they're taking them!"

Marik turned around and faced her. His tone was dead serious as he muttered under his breath, "They're going to be Akil's slaves. That means they'll have access to _him_."

"Slave!" roared the military man, making Marik jump. "Face front, you little insolent piece of dirt! What do you think this is, eh?"

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes," he said in an offhand voice. "I forgot for a moment that this was a slave parade, what with all those guardsmen and the fact that I'm chained up." He cocked his head to the side, and his eyes flashed dangerously. "And here I wad wondering whether or not _you_ or _him_ are the camp counsellor; I wanted to write home and complain about the shoddy treatment."

The man lashed out at him, knocking him to his feet with a sharp blow to the face. Doggedly, Marik kept talking, unable to stop himself. "Only thing that stopped me was, of course, the fact that I _have_ no home, and even if I did, no family to write to. You see – ah!" He exhaled painfully as a hobnailed boot connected with his chest.

"Shut up!" growled the military man.

"You see," Marik wheezed, after a quick pause, knowing that if he stopped he'd lose his momentum. "Some bastard went and – " He stopped, twisting painfully to dodge an angry blow with the end of a scabbard. He could hear the other slaves muttering, at least a little of it encouraging. "He went and slaug – " Marik cut himself off with a sharp swearword, as another hobnailed boot connected. "Slaughtered them ALL!"

He was yanked to his feet, held up at eye level with the military man. His feet hovered a few inches off of the ground, kicking wildly.

"How dare you ignore a direct order from your superior? How dare you incite the rabble against His Lordship?" The military man drew back a fist. "This is how we deal with trouble makers like you where I come from!"

"Hold." The simple word was filled with authority as it flew from Akil's mouth. The thin man's mouth was twisted into a strange smile, almost a leer but not quite. It stayed on his lips for a mere moment, and Marik knew that he was probably one of the few who'd seen it at all.

The military man dropped Marik, saluting to Akil. "Yes, sir?"

Marik scrambled to his feet, wiping a trickle of blood off of his arm. Akil looked him up and down, and held his gaze for a moment. Marik met his look with a fierce one of his own. One side of Akil's mouth went up in a lopsided smile, and then dropped.

"Bring him." Ignoring the military man's stunned look, Akil continued in an uninterested tone, "I tire of this. Send the rest to the kitchens."

The military man recovered. "Yes, sir!" he barked, and signalled the men standing by the column. They cracked their whips, and the column started to move again, leaving Marik and the other chosen slaves in its wake. The military man scowled at Marik, and shoved him into line. He tripped over someone's leg and sprawled to the floor. The military man spat, the grey gob landing inches away from Marik's head. He swallowed the bile that rose up, and pushed himself to his feet.

"Right, you lot!" bellowed the man, ignoring him. "QUI-I-I-I-I-ICK MARCH!"

As they set off towards an impressive-looking mansion, the man fell into step with Marik.

"You wont always be so lucky," he said in a conversational tone, making sure his voice could only be heard by Marik. "Next time, Akil wont be there to save your hide. And when that day comes…" He smirked at Marik and began to walk back to the front of the little group. His shoulder knocked the boy forward, so he stumbled into the slave in front of him.

"Watch it!" the tall man snapped under his breath. "You want to get us killed or what?"

Marik muttered something vaguely apologetic and concentrated on walking exactly two steps behind the man. He had an enemy now, an enemy in a position of power. If he had judged the horrible man correctly, he was in for a rough time. Cursing his hot temper, he marched on towards the house where – hopefully – he would be able to begin the first part of his plan for revenge.

_There y'have it, dorlin's. Now, don't ye forget what the magic word is!_

_No, not abrakadabra! Review!_

_Um... hint, nudge, wink. -blatant begging-_


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